The Life of the Party
by TheConjuringMind
Summary: Martyr receives a text message from a mysterious sender, and goes to investigate. MartyrXCarpenter. Takes place after the events of the first game.


**Disclaimer: I Don't Own Hunter: The Reckoning.**

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Kassandra stared at the text message on her cell-phone's screen, the blue light emitting from it being the only light in her dark apartment. Having skipped out on the rent for the past few weeks, her complex no longer had electricity. Although, what with all the rot sightings there had been, she supposed that wasn't the sole reason.

Many people had already begun evacuating from Ashcroft again, so it wouldn't surprise her if the landlord had up and left as well, shutting down the power to the building and skipping town without a moment's notice.

She took a half-hearted look around the dark, empty room, only to refocus her eyes on the cellphone in her hands with the message that taunted her.

It was a simple text, just an address of what the unknown messenger claimed to be a party, but considering the circumstances, it did call for some suspicion.

I mean, really, who in their right mind would throw a bash in the middle of a rot-pocalypse?

Still, she couldn't help but be tempted by the thought of a party scene. It had been a while since she'd gotten the chance to wind down.

She quickly backed out of her phone's message, scrolling through her top three contacts; Samantha, Father Estabon, and Duece.

She contemplated ringing up one of her fellow hunters to tag along with her to the alleged 'bash', but ultimately decided against it.

Having survived the first wave of rots the town had dished out 3 years ago, she could definitely handle herself now.

Without another thought, she slapped on one of her blue pleated skirts, a pair of white stockings, a red tube-top, and her signature combat boots.

Not wanting to bother with her hair, she settled for parting it into pigtails.

Finding a place to carry her knives proved to be difficult. She didn't want to have them out in the open (especially not if the party ended up being a real rager), but at the same time, she wanted her weapons to be at the ready so she could access them without a moment's hesitation.

She ended up stashing them in her backpack, along with her dual pistols, a pack of gum, and her cellphone.

Swinging the pack over her shoulder, she opened one of her apartment's windows and made her way down the building's fire escape.

It wasn't until the soles of her boots met the concrete that she realized how cold it was.

She exhaled a small white cloud, and watched as it dissipated in the air.

Surprisingly, her walk to the mystery address was a short one. She hadn't passed four blocks before she came to the tall, run-down brick building, and, judging from the way it was built, it had once been an old hospital.

The sound of a popular dance anthem boomed from inside, echoing out into the streets.

Most of the windows on the third floor were shattered, and several colored lights beamed from them on the inside, twirling and crossing over each other.

Kassandra knew they were strobe lights, but considering how shady the place looked, she figured it wouldn't hurt to be cautious.

She shrugged off her pack, pulled out one of her pistols, and slowly shifted the weapon in her hands. The mag was already loaded. If there was any sign of trouble, all she had to do was aim and pull the trigger.

Swinging her bag back over her shoulder and tightening the grip on her gun, she silently made her way up to the building's entrance.

Had the doors not been bashed in, she would have knocked, but since that wasn't the case, she simply pushed them open and stepped right inside.

The interior of the building was dark and damp (much like her apartment), and wreaked of an implacable smell.

Using the tiny flashlight she had taped onto her gun's barrel, she pointed it straight ahead in order to effectively see what was in front of her.

There were a few broken crates, with their contents littered across the floor, but other than that, the place didn't seem too dirty.

If it wasn't an old hospital, she supposed it must've been a warehouse at some point.

The building vibrated with the same music as before, and Kassandra found that the rhythm and intensity of the beats were slowly pulling her in.

Without thinking, she ascended the building's set of creaky stairs to the third floor, where the music was at its loudest. The large room she found herself in looked nothing like the first two. It had once been as messy and cluttered as the others, she observed, but someone (or something) had clearly attempted to make the place more presentable by sweeping away some of the dust and pushing a few of the broken crates and miscellaneous items aside.

Two speakers resided on either side of the large room, both visibly pulsating like that of a beating heart. The floor was written on with what looked like pink chalk, forming a large rectangle with smaller squares inside. On the outside of the rectangle, parallel to its lines, were the words 'Dance Floor' scratched carelessly all around the length of the shape.

The sight of the room was unbelievably odd, to say the least, but that wasn't what had her staring. It was the creatures that occupied the 'dance floor' that managed to do that.

They were not normal human beings (although their bodies mocked that of former living persons); their faces were mangled, mashed, and caked with dried blood, and their limbs were contoured and bent at odd angles. Yet still, they turned and moved about, flopping their arms this way and that, in what looked like an attempt to follow along with the beat of the music.

 _Rots_ , she noted, shaking her head.

It was by far the most bizarre sight she had ever seen, and she could only wonder what sick, twisted person had lured the rots into this elaborate set-up of a party.

Suddenly, Martyr felt someone's breath on her neck, and she instinctively cocked her gun to let them know who they were messing with.

No way would she allow whoever did this to get away scot-free.

"No need for that, Doll." Said the familiar man from behind her, easing her gun down with his hand.

Kassandra scoffed.

There was only one person in Ashcroft who called her that.

"Ugh, _Carpenter_. I should've known."

The mentioned man (or should she say, former man) attempted suppressing a cackle, only to break out in a prolonged fit of coughs.

After about five minutes he managed to recover.

"I'm sorry," He said sarcastically, stepping out from behind her to gauge her sour expression. "were you expecting someone else?"

Kassandra rolled her eyes, loosening the tight grip she had on her pistol. If he wanted to hurt her, he would've done it by now.

"Screw this," She spat, turning on her heel. "I'm outta here."

Carpenter shook his head.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." He clicked with his rotted tongue, wagging a gauze-wrapped finger back and forth.

"You can't leave just yet..."

Martyr spun around furiously.

" _And why not?_ " She challenged.

"Why, Doll," He said quietly, taking her face in one of his cold hands (much to her disgust), and moving her head to face his make-shift dance floor of rots. "You're the life of the party." He shifted her head to face him once again. "The whole place would be _dead_ without you!"

"Yeah," Martyr replied sarcastically, before finally swatting his hand away. " _No kidding_. Sorry to burst your bubble, creepo, but I'm not really into 'dancing with the dead', if you catch my drift?"

"No?" He questioned, inching ever closer to her retreating form. "Well, perhaps I can get you to reconsider..."


End file.
